


Two Blue Lines (Aren't Always Positive)

by Liminal Minds (LiminalMinds)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abortion, Discussion of Abortion, Emotions, F/F, F/M, Gen, Harry and Hermione understand each other implicitly, Hermione is a full person with or without children, I just needed one fic where it didn't end in babies so I wrote it myself, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Infertility, Introspection, Other, Pre-Relationship, a love letter to the childfree, believed-infertility, childfree!Hermione, discussion of pregnancy from the POV of a tokophobe, it's three am and I'm going through it rn ok, non-graphic abortion (procedure not specified), not wanting kids is okay and valid and can still be emotional, tokophobic!Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiminalMinds/pseuds/Liminal%20Minds
Summary: When the healers had told Hermione Granger that Dolohov’s curse in fifth year had severed one of her fallopian tubes, and they had to remove it to stop her from getting infected, she wasn’t sure what to think.Her mother had cried when she’d been informed (loosely) about what happened; how it decreased the chances of her having a child in the future. How she wanted to see her grand-babies grow up and now those chances were slashed.But Hermione hadn’t known what to think.She felt like she should have been upset, and the fact that she wasn’t is what upset her.Because she felt relieved, and that wasn’t what she was supposed to be feeling, right?*Mistakes happen. Harry is there for her.*TW for mentions and discussions of abortion, including getting an abortion procedure (not in any way graphic at all)Probably not the fic for pro-lifers. Discussion of pregnancy from the POV of somebody with a phobia of getting pregnant.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Hermione Granger, Hermione/Brief Mentions of Various Lovers, Pre-Relationship Harry/Hermione
Comments: 37
Kudos: 84





	Two Blue Lines (Aren't Always Positive)

When the healers had told Hermione Granger that Dolohov’s curse in fifth year had severed one of her Fallopian tubes, and they had to remove it to stop her from getting infected, she wasn’t sure what to think. 

Her mother had cried when she’d been informed (loosely) about what happened; how it decreased the chances of her having a child in the future. How she wanted to see her grand-babies grow up and now those chances were slashed. 

But Hermione hadn’t known what to think.

She felt like she  _ should _ have been upset, and the fact that she  _ wasn’t _ is what upset her.

Because she felt  _ relieved, _ and that wasn’t what she was supposed to be feeling, right?

Eventually, her mother calmed down the first time Hermione got her period that summer, even though Hermione wasn’t sure that’s how periods  _ worked, _ because in her dentist mother’s overly rational mind, a period meant possibility. 

Hermione didn’t know what to think of that. 

After the battle of Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey had looked her over, scanning her body for injuries, she’d pursed her lips and wandered off.

Ten minutes later, she’d ushered Hermione into a small room and said that the damage of Bellatrix’s torture was extensive, and it seemed unlikely that she’d ever get pregnant, and if by some ‘miracle’ she did, it was highly likely she’d carry to full term, or even survive that long.

This time there wasn’t a crying mother to deal with, but there was a sad, pitying gaze, and all Hermione wanted to scream was  _ “Stop it! Am I only a woman if I can be a mother?!” _

She didn’t because that wasn’t the Polite thing to do. But without her mother crying about it, she could pass off her overwhelming relief as shock and be about her way, though a part of her was indeed mourning.

Her relationship with Ron was over, before it could even begin. 

No way he would not want children.

No way Molly Weasley would  _ let _ him not have children.

She withdrew from the family slowly, then all at once; they were too wrapped up in their grief to notice, but that was okay.

She’d considered children before. The idea had never been something detestable, but always an “if it happens it’ll be fine I suppose,” sort of feeling, rather than the deep maternal desire she was supposed to feel. Was that normal?

Hermione turned to the library- a muggle one, because sex ed at Hogwarts was  _ severely _ lacking. She looked at pregnancy, at childbirth, at raising kids.

She felt  _ ill.  _ Why had nobody ever told her  _ that _ was what pregnancy was like? Oh, they mentioned the swollen feet and morning sickness and the pain of labour, but it was discussed in a rose-tinted way, like the way movies would make it all seem worth it in the end.

But there was nothing of being  _ ripped open _ front-to-back or that you could sometimes  _ see _ the child’s limbs when they kicked or prodded, like some terrifying Alien-in-stomach situation?! Or the actual  _ risks _ of giving birth! Was this a sick joke women played on other women, some secret society they weren’t allowed to know about until they were up the duff and well on their way themselves? 

The more she read, the more her stomach felt sick.

The more she read, the more she felt relieved. She never,  _ ever _ wanted the feeling of another person growing inside her. Ever. 

And the more she considered that, the more it felt  _ right. _ All well and good other people having kids, she was happy to be Aunt Hermione if need be. It’s not like she hated children at all- she just didn’t want to be the one growing them. And thankfully, she never would be. 

And hell, she didn’t need to grow the child to be a mother if she  _ really  _ wanted! Hermione thought to herself, there was always adoption- she thought of Harry, trapped under the cupboard waiting to be whisked away. Of Teddy, orphaned from the war, and thought of how many other children weren’t as lucky to have family that loved them to take them in. Families that weren’t  _ safe _ like Andromeda was, or kind like the Weasley’s. There were many children like that in the world. Many children like Tom Riddle, who grew up alone and without love. Maybe one day, she thought blithely, she could adopt a child that  _ needed _ to be shown love and kindness and understanding.

And, for now, she could work on her career. She could do what  _ she _ wanted, for once in her life not having to look behind her shoulder or plan ahead. (Her “do what I want” itinerary was meticulously planned and jam-packed, when it came down to it.)

She spent the first year travelling.

Trekking through jungles, hiking up mountains. She explored city after city and country after country, learning magics ancient and new, dealing with creatures she’d never seen at Hogwarts. She spent time in Romania on the dragon reserves (and in a short-lived dalliance with a  _ different  _ Weasley that was altogether uninterested in the idea of procreation, but  _ very _ much interested in practicing it,) and time in Japan with the Kitsune Rehabilitation Program. 

Hermione learnt how to level mountains in Greenland, taught by a woman so wrinkled and ancient that she seemed like she was from a different world altogether. In Australia she spent time freelancing as a Bounty Witch, capturing anybody from rogue Niffler traders to Dragon’s Breath rings and underground Elf Traffickers. At one point she’d even met Luna again, trailing a lead in Switzerland, where Luna got her proof of Crumple Headed Snorcacks and Hermione, who by now had her eyes opened by the world, had been the first to help Luna photograph and catalogue her findings for her new book.

And she kept in touch with everybody back home, too. 

She  _ adored _ Teddy, whom Harry had taken in shortly before he and Ginny broke up for the final time. She loved the little scamp, and sent him so many toys and trinkets that Harry once wrote that she became his favourite person in the world. (It made her feel smug for days.) She sent everybody various gifts she picked up from her travels, from the enchanted hair set she got Ginny from Italy that would keep her hair perfect even during Quidditch, to the hand-crafted golden chess set she picked up for Ron in Sydney. The mobile she enchanted and sent to Harry from California, because dammit she missed her best friend and owls took way too long. 

And she had lovers.

She loved openly and plentifully, her various bedrooms a pit-stop for lovers of all shapes and sizes and genders, from Charlie in Romania, to Luna for a brief while in Switzerland, to a lover in New Orleans who only ever responded to the name Myrridyn. She loved muggles and magicals in equal measures, and they all knew from the bat what the situation was;  _ temporary _ . Temporary and wonderful, and each time she left with treasured memories and new experiences and friends from around the globe.

But she was starting to miss home. 

And so she returned.

_ Maybe _ , Hermione thought bitterly to herself only a month later,  _ she shouldn’t have returned at all. _

If she hadn’t returned, she wouldn’t have gone clubbing and taken a random muggle man home to her bed.

If she hadn’t returned, she wouldn’t be where she was now.

Sat on the bathroom floor of her small flat.   
  


☺ **PREGNANT**

The words blinked back at her tauntingly, and dread pooled in her body. She closed her eyes, and counted to ten. The words were still there.

Her hands felt sweaty.

She grabbed another stick, a different brand, and had a look. 

Two blue lines.

She grabbed another. Two pink lines and a smiley face.

Another- Two lines and a menacing  _ Congratulations! _

Test after test after test- all  _ positive. _

As if she could feel positive about that. 

She stood up, wobbling into her living room, heart pounding.

_ Breathe, Hermione. 1, 2, 3, 4… _ She counted herself down, rubbing her sweaty palms on her jeans. 

Harry.

She needed Harry. Hermione scrambled for her phone, finding it wedged between couch cushions, and looked at the clock on the screen.

13:26. She scanned her brain for Harry’s schedule. He usually had a late lunch at the Ministry, so perhaps he would be available.

She hoped he would be available. 

She dialed the phone, hands shaking, and waited on bouncing feet, pacing around the room.

***

_ “Hermione! Hey, how’s you? Where are you this time?” _

“Harry. Hi.” She breathed.

_ “Everything okay?” _ He asked, and Hermione couldn’t help but expel a watery laugh. He was always concerned for her.

_ “Hermione?” _ He asked again.

“I- I’m in England, Harry. Been here about-about a month getting everything settled. I wanted- I wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

_ “Hermione, what’s wrong? You want to meet?” _

“Harry-” Hermione responded, sighing, “you-you have work, and I know you don’t have long for lunch-”

_ “Meet me at the Leakey in twenty minutes.” _ He said, before hanging up. 

_ O _ h, Harry.

***

Ten minutes later, Hermione had sequestered herself in a booth in the darkest corner of the Leakey Cauldron she could find, nursing a bottle of Gillywater, nails scraping the paper label off strip by strip, the condensation causing her hands to grow slick cold. 

And there he was, bursting through the door and calling over to Tom for a butterbeer, a small lanky boy no more.

Suddenly, Hermione’s years away slammed into her all at once as she saw him, all long messy hair and neat, roguish beard and tailored jacket and muscles. He looked nothing like he had those years ago. 

But she’d never _not_ recognise him.

_ Harry. _

He scanned around the pub and she waved to him, suddenly feeling timid. 

Would he even remember her face? 

His eyes caught hers, and her breath caught as she glimpsed the brilliant green of his eyes as they widened, and then he grinned brightly, dashing over to her with his drink in hand. 

“Hermione!” He cried out, in one swift move placing down his Butterbeer and sweeping her off the seat into a crushing hug.

“Merlin, it’s been too long. You look so different, now.” He mumbled into her hair, still as unruly as ever, though managed by proper care and age. 

“So do you,” Hermione whispered into his chest. She felt so  _ small _ in comparison to him now. Hermione didn’t want to let go, she wanted to revel in the feeling of safety and comfort and belonging that Harry provided. That he’d already provided.

He pulled back from her, looking down with a bright sparkle in his eyes, before sliding into the opposite end of the booth. 

“I can’t believe you were going to wait till my  _ birthday _ to tell me you were back in England!” Harry started, “I mean  _ really, Hermione, _ you’ve been gone far too long!”

“I figured it’d be a nice surprise, to know I’m back. For good this time, I think.”

“Really?” Harry breathed, and his smile caused a different kind of thudding in her heart. Hermione nodded, chewing on her lip. “Brilliant! Everybody’s missed you-but-” Harry’s smile disappeared, and he took her hand from where it was drumming on the table, lacing his calloused fingers with hers.

“What’s happened?” He asked, and Hermione had never felt anything so  _ piercing. _ Absently, she waved her hand. 

“Muffling charm and notice-me-not.” She shrugged, taking a deep breath. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Harry’s fingers laced around hers grounded her.

“I’m pregnant. I thought I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant, but I am.” She spat out in a rush. Harry didn’t let go of her hand, though his grip tightened slightly and he leaned back a bit.

“Really?” He asked. She nodded. He frowned again. “And I suppose this isn’t the sort of thing where I say congratulations?”

She burst into tears.

“Hey, hey! Oh, Hermione...Don’t cry, I’m sorry love,” Harry babbled, moving to slide into her side of the booth, tugging her into an embrace. “It’ll be okay, we can figure it out together okay?”

“Harry,” Hermione sniffed, “I’m not  _ supposed  _ to get pregnant! After-”

“After what, love?” He asked, rubbing circles into her back. Hermione hiccuped, and told him of Dolohov and Bellatrix and Pomfrey’s diagnosis. He just hugged her closer.

“Oh, Hermione. We’ll figure it out, I’ll be there every step of the way-”

“No, Harry!” Hermione cried, her hand on her chest pushing him off her gently. 

“No,” she reiterated, softer this time. “I didn’t tell you so you could try and fix it or make me feel better. I might  _ die _ if I have a kid, and in any-case, I don’t want to be pregnant. Ever. Even when I thought I couldn’t get pregnant I still used protection and I was on the potion! This  _ shouldn’t _ have happened.”

“But it did, Hermione.” Harry huffed, though it wasn’t aimed at her, rather just the confusion. She was pregnant, it’s not like she could change it, right?

“Harry.” Hermione said, her tone measured. She looked at him dead in the eyes. “I just...I needed to tell somebody, so at least I didn’t keep it to myself forever. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. A muggle one. I’m getting an abortion.” 

“A-what?” 

Hermione sighed, unable to keep eye contact much longer. Instead she took his hand, tracing small patterns on his knuckles, walking the lines of his scar.

_ I must not tell lies. _

“I know Wizarding Britain doesn’t approve. I know a lot of people don’t approve. But it’s  _ my  _ choice, and I won’t let anybody take that choice away from me,  _ okay? _ I just needed somebody to  _ know. _ ”

Harry didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, finally.

“What time’s your appointment?”

“12:45 This Thursday. The clinic isn’t far from my flat.”

“Two days away?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking back at him and smiling grimly. “I’m sorry to put this all on you, Harry. I know you probably couldn’t fathom it-” Harry shook his head fervently, and took both of her hands in his again.

“I’ll pick you up at half twelve, okay? We’ll go together.”

“Harry, you’ve got work, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“We’ll go  _ together. _ ” He insisted, kissing her knuckles. “We’re a team, you and I.  _ I’ll go with you, _ remember?  _ Until the very end. _ ” She smiled at him, her eyes shining, and he wanted nothing more than to just take each and every pain away. 

“You are a brilliant wizard, Harry.” She said, finally. 

  
  


***

That Thursday, Harry met Hermione outside her flat, and they walked to the clinic together. 

He held her hand in the waiting room, allowing her to squeeze as tight as possible, and when she was finally called in, he waited patiently. 

When she came out, tears of relief and anguish streaking down her cheeks, he took her home, and they ordered way too much Chinese food and put on her favourite Disney movies and drank copious amounts of whiskey, and Harry called Teddy goodnight from his stay at Andromeda’s.

Hermione cried a lot that night, and Harry held her each and every time as she sobbed.

When she wanted to talk about what happened at the clinic, the procedure she went through, he let her and listened, because that was all he could do. 

When she told him she needed a distraction, he provided it with bad renditions of show tunes and stories of what had happened on her travels and prompted her to share her many adventures and paid rapt attention to each and every tale.

When she said she felt guilty for being upset when she  _ wanted _ the procedure in the first place, he reassured her that she made the right choice for her well-being and safety and wishes; that she didn’t need to feel guilty because of everybody’s expectations for her. That it was always her choice and nobody else's. That he would fight anybody that would dare make her feel guilty for doing what she chose, and he reassured her that nobody worth knowing would judge her for it based on ridiculous societal pressures and norms of what a woman should want.

When she asked, tentatively, about Teddy, he told her all about him and his “superhero Aunt Hermione,” and when she cried and said she’d might like to adopt one day Harry confided that he wanted to do the same, and then they cried for all the children just waiting for love. 

Harry cried because he wanted to stop what had happened to him happening to any other child, and Hermione cried because no child should suffer a life without love.

And that night, when she had fallen asleep on the couch and Harry busied himself with taking out the rubbish, having noted the bin men due next morning, he removed all the tests he’d spotted in the bin, resolving to be there for her even if he couldn’t understand just  _ what _ she had gone through. Just like she had been there for him time and time before.

He took out the bins and cleaned up the glasses and straightened the cushions carefully, like he was preparing a volatile potion.

Hermione needed him, and he wanted to be there for her. 

He picked her up gently from the couch, laying her in bed and tucking her in.

When she woke enough to hold his wrist and ask him to stay, he did.

And he held her.

And he knew that she was going to be okay, eventually. 

Hermione knew that Harry wasn’t going to judge her.

And they both knew that they would get through it.

Together.

*


End file.
